


Fadebound

by Lost_gallifrey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fade Sex, Guilty-Solas, Human Cole (Dragon Age), M/M, Masturbation, Sex with spirits, Slow Burn, Weird fade crap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_gallifrey/pseuds/Lost_gallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole struggles to adapt to his newly human state, and the dreams and sensations that come with it. Things become more confusing when he finds Solas in the fade enjoying the company of spirits in a way that Cole never thought possible. <br/>Out of curiosity, Cole joins with other spirits and becomes Solas' lover within the fade. In the waking world he seeks to establish a relationship with the elf who doesn't recognize that it's Cole he's meeting every night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink!meme prompt, and part of my apparent ongoing quest to get Cole in bed with the majority of the inner circle.

Cole huffed out a breath in irritation and turned over, flopping down hard enough to make the bed-frame creak in protest. 

_His_ bed, Cole corrected himself. It still felt strange to own things, especially when nobody had even asked the things if they wanted to be his. The Iron Bull had said the room was his now, and that he should sleep in the bed when he was tired and Dorian had given him soft clothing that he was supposed to wear when he slept there.

Changing into different clothes to sleep didn't make sense, but Dorian had insisted Cole do so. He had explained that it was something that people did, and that if Cole wanted to be more human, more _real_ then he would have to break himself of the habit of sleeping on the battlements in his patched tunic and leathers. The soft, loose fabric felt strange against his skin, and sometimes Cole missed the comforting warmth of sun-warmed stone against his back, but at least there weren't patrolling guards here to wake him up and tell him to go sleep elsewhere.

There was an uncomfortable grittiness behind Cole's eyes and he scrubbed his hand wearily over his face. He didn't like this part. Everyone called it 'falling asleep', and it was like falling, like being back in the pit and sinking into a dark nothingness. 

Solas had insisted that Cole had nothing to fear from sleeping. Like the growing list of awkward and confusing demands his body placed on him, it was supposedly completely normal. The elf had explained it with his trademark patience, gentle in a way that made Cole feel like he wasn't asking the stupidest questions possible. 

Cole knew that Solas would have preferred if he had become more of what he was, rather than growing. The initial disappointment and regret had hung on him like a shadow, growing fat on guilt until acceptance had finally chased it away. Cole was glad to see it go, he had missed his friend.

There was a book Solas had given him, and Cole rolled over to grab it from the wobbly little table Blackwall had given him to put things on, because people weren't supposed to just leave their things on the floor. There was a small strip of leather marking a chapter Solas had said dealt with dreams and sleeping, but it was just scratches and marks on the page that didn't want to become words. Even so, he liked the smooth feel of the leather, worn thin by the memories of so many hands. 

Cole liked the scent of the book's binding, it smelled like the library, with a bit of a lingering spiciness that reminded him of Solas. He rested his cheek against it and let his eyes drift shut for a moment before kicking irritably at the blanket that seemed to like his legs too much. 

_Be quiet and still,_ Solas had instructed him. _Slow your breath and let your body lead.”_

It wasn't so much like falling now, more like spreading out like honey from the pot Sera had broken at breakfast. Cole could hear all the voices of Skyhold, old stone like a soft heartbeat and all the people like sparks of light singing in counterpoint. There was another song, louder now that his body was heavy and soft at the edges, ancient like the worn foundation that sank into the earth. 

It was hard to fight as the room grew fainter, he was fading, falling into something familiar.

“Oh.” Cole thought dourly, looking around at the wavering landscape. “This again.”

The first thing Cole noticed was that he was all wrong again. He didn't have the solid limbs he was getting used to, and none of the petty hurts that plagued him, not even the familiar, comforting weight of his hat. He was faint and formless, like he had been before he grew to make his own flesh.

Trying to imagine how to look was difficult. Cole wound up with something resembling arms, but legs were harder and tended to tatter into gossamer the moment he stopped thinking about them. His flesh wouldn't fit here, but he found he missed it even if it was strange and achey and demanding. 

A curious spirit drifted close, pulsing it's amusement at Cole's fumbling in a riot of color and rich feelings. “Hello,” Cole greeted. Sensing it's confusion, he sent a wave of welcome in it's direction, but to his shock it simply wavered and turned into The Iron Bull.

“You should eat, kid,” Spirit-The Iron Bull said gruffly, producing an onion and shoving it across a newly-formed table. 

Baffled, Cole drifted around as the familiar walls of Herald's Rest rose around him. Everything looked the same except it was hazy at the edges and full of people who shouldn't be there, all being very encouraging about eating the onion Spirit-The Iron Bull kept offering.

“You really should,” Spirit-Rhys insisted, blurring slightly before turning into a large, stuffed nug.

Cole didn't particularly like food in general, but he hated onions. The cooks at Skyhold always snuck them into the food anyway, little bitter chunks hiding in all the soups and stews. Avoiding them was hard enough without other spirits trying to make him eat them in the fade.

The fade had always listened to him before he was Cole, but now it seemed contrary and confusing. Spirits drifted about, rudely manifesting his thoughts in abstract ways. 

Balling up his distaste, Cole pushed it back at the other spirits, and they whirled away in trails of regret, leaving walls that dissolved into cheerfully bobbling wisps. The one that had been The iron Bull was obviously still amused and abandoned it's qunari form in exchange for that of a very large onion before drifting away, still broadcasting it's joy at the chaos it had caused.

Clearly the irrepressible spirit was drawing it's inspiration from the pranks and jokes people played on each other. Cole wondered if he should tell Sera that she was making spirits in the fade......maybe next time she put the small, stinging bugs in his bed. The bugs didn't like it and neither did he, but the bed didn't complain either way.

Being in the fade was the same as before, but different as well. Cole couldn't hear the calls the same as he could before he had flesh, they were nothing more than whispers in the dark now, as soft and insubstantial as he had become. Some songs were stronger, winding through and singing stories of battles and great loves. There was another, newer, softer sound from deeper in. It warmed, welcomed, drawing spirits in. They milled curiously, some drifting deeper into the song and letting it pull them close.

There was something oddly compelling about the song, and Cole found himself slipping deeper into the fade to follow the sound. It was almost familiar, realization hovering on the edge of his mind like when Maryden stopped singing but he could still hear the melody in his head. 

Spirits had shaped the fade here into remembered cities and forests. Cole recognized some of them as places he had gone with the Inquisitor, except only the bones of the cities remained; Adaar liked to look for the glowing stones that were actually keys there. 

The song was louder here, lonely and longing. It reminded Cole of the words the mages in the White Spire would whisper to each other when they came together in the dark, all desperation and clutching flesh and feelings that spilled over like a full glass. Only this was different because it was older and surer, familiar in a way that made his distant, sleeping flesh shiver in surprised recognition. 

Solas.

Solas with no clothes on.

It wasn't that nudity was something Cole wasn't used to. Mages in the Spire were always taking their robes off for a variety of reasons, and he'd often bathed in convenient pools and streams with other members of the inquisition. It was just that once he'd become more real, other people had become more shy about taking their clothes off when he was there.

But this wasn't the same kind of nakedness as when people bathed, this was more like the nakedness The Iron Bull saw in his head when he started really _looking_ at Cole and imagining him doing things that were confusing and complicated and made his skin burn to think about. Dorian had told The Iron Bull to keep his eye to himself when he had caught him staring, but that was almost more strange than the thoughts because The Iron Bull's eye hadn't been going anywhere....

Solas looked more like his flesh here than Cole did, and looking at him was like looking at a reflection of what was real. Cole wasn't sure what he was doing, or why he was doing it without clothes until a spirit, radiant and golden, darted close enough to slide along his skin and Solas had arched into it with a sigh.

Oh. Cole thought, watching curiously as another, smaller spirit joined in, weaving paths of light over Solas' skin. He knew people had sex with each other, and sometimes with themselves while thinking of other people.....and even with carvings that looked like pieces of other people, but he didn't know they had sex with spirits.

The thought was odd and intriguing. Distantly Cole became aware of his sleeping flesh rousing at the idea, tugging him between the here and there. Curiously he drifted closer, drawn by the encouraging thrum of Solas' calling.

There was need in Solas' song, aching and twisting but nothing that would call the covetous demons of lust and desire. Flickering wisps, tiny motes of thought and light spun around him, dancing over his skin with none of the purpose the larger spirits showed as they glided over the sleek planes of his chest and nestled between his legs.

Cole could feel the deep ache of need and flitted closer without thinking, surprised when Solas turned his face towards him and stretched out a hand. The warmth of his welcome and greeting settled over Cole like sunlight. 

The other clustered spirits included Cole with easy camaraderie as he joined them, tentatively reaching out to touch Solas in the same way he had seen The Iron Bull do with Dorian when they didn't realize anyone else was there. Duty projected approval as Solas groaned under the new sensation, and Joy thrilled to the new burst of pleasure that wracked him. 

It felt strange to touch anything with such insubstantial flesh. The almost-hands that Cole had formed slid over Solas, brushing over small nipples in a way that made the elf jerk and cry out, quivering taught on the edge of something that threatened to sweep him away. Cole had felt that building pressure before in other people, but he had never been a part of it and certainly had never felt himself.

The fade warped and started to break apart as Cole felt his sleeping body twitch, pulling him towards it like a fisherman reeling in a catch. Beneath him, Solas twined his arms above his head, knotting his fingers in the fade-created grass before coming apart in a brilliant corona of light that shattered the last of the dream and left Cole stunned and gasping, staring at the planking of the roof above his bed as his body seized with the same intense burst of pleasure as he had felt in Solas. 

Shuddering, Cole tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but they stubbornly clung to the blankets and he wound up half tumbling onto the floor in a loud, graceless heap. He felt strange....empty, loose limbed and breathless like he'd been running and had forgotten to breathe. 

Panting, Cole pressed his cheek against the cool floorboards. His skin felt tight and hot, like the light that Solas had become was living inside of him now. The soft sleep pants Dorian had given him were sticky against one thigh, which was uncomfortable, but other than that he felt.....good. Very good. Relaxed and unwound, but still him.

A heavy knock at the door roused Cole from the lassitude that seemed to be crawling through his body. He awkwardly propped himself up on his pointed elbows as Iron Bull peered curiously around the room, frowning down at him.

“You OK kid?” Iron Bull's grizzled face creased with concern and the worry in his mind bubbled up like the poison pools in the Western Approach. _Is he sick, injured? Nobody else here but it smells like sex, if someone's hurt him there isn't going to be enough left of them to bury...._ “I heard a crash up here.”

“I'm not hurt, The Iron Bull.” Cole rubbed his hands nervously on his sleep-shirt, his skin felt strangely sensitive, like it couldn't forget what Solas felt like. “I dreamed, and when I woke up my feet liked the blankets too much.”

“You dream now, huh?” Apparently satisfied that there was nothing to worry about, Iron Bull gave Cole a long considering look as his nostrils flared and a slow smirk spread across his scarred mouth. “Good dreams apparently.”

“Yes?” Cole said slowly, not quite sure he wanted to explain it to The Iron Bull. The dream was his, his and Solas'. “Except there were onions.”

“Huh.” Iron Bull rumbled, clearly unconvinced as he started to withdraw from the room. “Hey, Cole.” He added, when all Cole could see was the back on one huge, gray shoulder. “You ever need to talk, or ask anything...you can.”

“Like how I can ask Dorian questions?” Cole couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. Dorian had drawn him a diagram, but it just showed the parts and how they fit. Not how they found each other and knew that they should try to fit. 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull laughed gruffly and called himself a Tamassran in his head. “Just like that.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Solas woke slowly in the silence of the rotunda. The fade, and all its wonders still danced behind his eyes as he slipped into the waking world and left its comfort for reality. 

The air was cool and still, drying the spend that streaked his stomach above his softening cock. Solas touched his spent flesh and sighed at the sparks of pleasure that echoed through him, curling his toes into the rough weave of the blankets that draped his sleeping platform. 

Everywhere the spirits had touched sung with pleasure, sparking along Solas' body like the lingering sparks of a lightning spell. The new spirit, the shy one that he had never seen before had left a an unsatisfied ache under his skin. When it had touched him it had been more....real, less ephemeral than most of the spirits he had met,and sure in a way that belied its hesitancy.

With a sigh, Solas regretfully rose. If he he'd thought the same spirits would return he would be tempted to go back to that peaceful patch of the fade he had found. A spirit of curiosity had led him to the carefully recreated grove, reveling in the simple joy of exploration. Unfortunately the little spot was probably already changed by the constant fluctuations of the fade, and the spirits who had graciously shared in his pleasures gone to find other interests.

Although he was unsure of its nature, Solas hoped that next time he slept, perhaps that strange, shy little spirit would find him again. Too often he found that his call drew gentle spirits of pity or cautious spirits drawn by his secrets and his solitude. As much as he welcomed their solicitous ministrations and comforts, they were not the type of spirits he sought out when his flesh became more insistent than his mind.

Duty and Joy were always welcome partners, but something about this new spirit made Solas wish he had no duties to occupy his hours. 

Sternly ignoring the interested twitching of his barely sated flesh, Solas padded over to his desk and leaned over to peer at the glowing shard of crystal sitting in the middle of it. Adaar had been determinedly collecting the artifacts and excitedly presenting them for inspection each time they returned to Skyhold. 

It couldn't be more than an hour until sunrise. Until the sunlight that would bring that bustling little woman from the kitchens with her endless pots of rancid tea and the tittle cakes that made it worth her presence, and Dorian who would loudly complain about being awake in a way that carried all the way to the great hall.

Shoving the glowing relic aside, Solas rested his forehead on his arms. He wasn't one to succumb to temptation, but perhaps a few more minutes of sleep, and the explorations it brought, would be a forgivable allowance. The dawn would come soon enough.


	2. Dream2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole discovers the joys of an active imagination, Dorian starts meddling and Solas misses the point completely.

The Herald's Rest was winding down for the night. Cole sat on the stairs, swinging one leg rhythmically against the worn wood and watching drunk people lean on each other as they staggered out the door. 

Drinking didn't really make sense to Cole. He'd tried it when Blackwall had insisted it was something that all young men did, and had poured him glass after glass of some thick, bitter drink that had made him feel strange and then fall over. The falling over hadn't been bad, the floor had felt very soft and welcoming, but when he'd woken up the next morning everything had been very loud and unpleasant. Food was even worse coming up than going down.

After that, Adaar had sternly reprimanded Blackwall and Cole had felt guilty for days. Blackwall was just trying to help him be more real, and he liked drinking until he fell down and slept on the floor, so he probably thought Cole would like it too.

Dorian probably would have already fallen down if he wasn't propped up against The Iron Bull's broad shoulder. It made them both soft inside, covering the constant hurts that cut and clamored. Cole watched The Iron Bull smile indulgently and rub Dorian's shoulder as he pulled him closer, wondering for the first time what that would feel like. 

Solas had touched him a few days ago, a simple, supportive hand on his back that Cole could still feel like a brand against his skin. He wondered if it felt like that to Dorian, a strange, confusing ache that lived in his flesh and wouldn't listen when he told it to go away. 

Edging a few steps down, Cole chewed absently on one ragged nail. Dorian felt safe and cared for, his satisfaction expanding out like the edges of a blanket that wound through all of The Iron Bull's thoughts until they fit together seamlessly. He thought he would like that, the feeling of being comfortable and comforted, but by someone strong and clever enough to make sure he never hurt people again.

Cole was curious to ask The Iron Bull how he knew that he and Dorian would fit, but he didn't want to disturb them either. Dorian was usually bright and singing with old hurt, but now he was soft and blurred and that was good. He was brave and clever, and probably handsome, and Cole was glad that The Iron Bull could help him. 

“What's up, kid?” Iron Bull asked in his deep bass rumble after noticing Cole's unblinking interest.

Cole contemplated telling The Iron Bull that the roof was up, and then the sky full of old dead stars, but he had a feeling that would be what Vivienne referred to as 'intolerably willful ignorance'. Instead he scuffed his way down the rest of the stairs, fingers tugging nervously at the tattered ends of his sleeves. 

“Can I ask you a question, The Iron Bull?” Cole hoped that he wouldn't mind. The Iron Bull knew a lot, and he didn't get embarrassed like Cullen or angry like Sera. “You said I could.”

“Sure.” Iron Bull shrugged one broad shoulder, and then grinned as Dorian huffed in irritation and squeezed his eyes tightly shut in protest at being jostled. “What do you want to know?”

Sitting on the bench across from The iron Bull seemed like the best way to start the conversation, so Cole tucked himself up on the seat before remembering Josephine's lectures on table manners and returning his feet to the floor. “I want to know how you knew,” Cole said decisively. “You and Dorian fit, but how did you know that you would?”

Dorian made a slightly incredulous noise and cracked his eyes open. “Cole,” he grumbled. “I think I rather covered that question with that exceptionally detailed diagram. How you could possibly have questions after that is beyond me.”

“Oh,” Cole felt the skin on his face heat up. Embarrassment was a new sensation, and not one he enjoyed. It always felt like his guts were trying to curl up and hide even though they were already hidden inside him. “I didn't mean flesh. I meant you.... the you that you make each other. How did you know you wanted that?”

“I'm talented, intelligent and devastatingly handsome,” Dorian said slyly with a smile curling his lips. His mustache was mussed and slightly crooked, he'd probably want to know but Cole didn't want to interrupt to tell him. “How could this big lout not want me?”

“Huh, thought it was the other way around.” Iron Bull ruffled Dorian's hair in a way he knew was irritating even as his scarred mouth twisted into a smile. “Fussy little mage.”

Even though he was half asleep and half drunk, Dorian's hair still looked good despite The Iron Bull's best efforts. The skin on his face and bare shoulder was rich and smooth in the flickering firelight, clear of spots, freckles and random scars. Sera would never tell _him_ he looked like a wet, starving sheepdog that had been kicked into a ditch.

“If I thought....if I wanted that....” Cole started timidly, “would I have to be handsome like Dorian?”

“Nah, kid.” The Iron Bull scratched at one horn to distract himself from the soft, light place that Cole could hear in him whenever he thought of Dorian. “Not sure you could pull the look off.”

Once, when Dorian had been away with Adaar, Cole had gone into his room and tried on the rich, sumptuous robes the mage favored. The material had felt strange against his skin, slick and sliding where he was used to course and rough. Even though the cloth didn't mind being worn by someone else, it didn't cooperate like it did for Dorian and clung too tightly in some places and hung askew in others. Instead of looking bright and bold, Cole had learned enough to know he had looked ridiculous.

“Why, Cole.” Dorian woke up a little more and looked avidly interested in a way that was almost frightening. “Do you have your eye on someone?”

Dorian was very, very clever, but Cole was beginning to realize that he had some problems when it came to eyes. “No, Dorian,” Cole corrected gently. “My eyes are in my face.”

The Iron Bull laughed heartily at that, even though Cole didn't think Dorian's confusion was funny, and slapped his hand down hard enough on the table to make an empty wine bottle tip over. “Good for you, kid. So, who is it? That new serving girl with the great tits?”

“No.” Cole replied a bit miserably. The Iron Bull was now thinking about things he could do with the buxom lady and they were twining and tangling in his head with the things he did to Dorian. It was all very confusing. 

Della was pretty and kind, but Cole didn't want to do any of the things The Iron Bull was thinking about with her. Her hand were soft instead of calloused from holding a staff, her body too soft....and she just had so much hair....

“I don't think Cole is looking for that kind of help.” Dorian elbowed Bull in the soft part of his gut and smiled benevolently at Cole. “What do you want to know.”

“I don't know,” Cole shook his head hard enough that he had to reach up and brush hair out of his eyes. “I want...but I don't understand....how do I know if he wants me as well?”

“Well, if you are interested in someone...spend time with them.” Dorian nodded, clearly warming to the subject. “And you could try gifts as well...”

“Like when you left your small-clothes for The Iron Bull?”

“No, I wouldn't suggest that for you.” Dorian's smile took on a slightly smug edge, and his mind sparked with a somewhat-drink-muddled certainty that he had uncovered something delicious. “I rather think you might want to try dawnstone. It makes an exceptional staff focus, and poor Solas shattered his fighting demons in that dreadful temple.”

___________________________________________________________________________

“You can turn in if you like, lad.” Blackwall stomped his feet to settle them into the fleece-lined boots Adaar had made for him. “I'll take the rest of the watch.”

Cold even under the fur he'd wrapped himself in, Cole sighed in relief. Part of him didn't want to leave, because Blackwall always felt heavy and sad and he probably hadn't slept. The Warden would most likely stare at the fire and think the tragic thoughts that rattled around in his head like pebbles until dawn unless Cole stayed to help. 

“Go on,” Blackwall encouraged, rough hands tugging the furs higher around Cole's hunched shoulders. “You look done in.”

Cole wasn't entirely sure how things could look done, or how Blackwall could see that he was, but he was too tired to question or protest as a gentle push aimed him towards an empty tent. 

It still felt strange to have space and a bedroll in one of the tents. In some ways it was stranger than his room in the Herald's rest, simply because he was so used to sitting up all night so that everyone else could sleep. He'd tried staying up, but his flesh had been very demanding the next day and Varric had lectured him about getting at least a few hours sleep. 

Sleep was a slightly more welcome prospect since Cole had found Solas in the fade, but getting there seemed more difficult than it should be. Sometimes he eagerly drifted off, only to find himself waking up several hours later from a restful, but disappointingly dreamless sleep. 

Tugging his leathers off before burrowing into the chilled blankets of his bedroll, Cole curled up tightly and tugged the covers up over his head. He didn't get as cold as Dorian's feet, but close enough that he envied the bright wool socks the mage hid in his pack and wondered if Krem would make him a pair if he asked. 

Something hard dug sharply into Cole's hip and he rolled over, digging the offending object out of his pocket. Dorian had given him the bright, perfect chunk of dawnstone with a wink as they made camp, his mind humming with amusement and pride at finding a piece with such pure clarity. The thought of giving it to Solas made Cole shiver in a way that had nothing to with the cold, the heat rising across his face. 

Clasping the smooth lump of ore to his chest, Cole squeezed his eyes shut determinedly. Usually sleep was hard to find if he focused on it, but he must have been more tired than he thought because if only felt like seconds before everything wavered and he was back in the fade.

It looked like everyone Cole had ever met was having sex. 

Some of them, like Dorian and The Iron Bull, who had loud sex in a room not far from Cole's, were expected, even if Krem had never been with them and had never, as far as Cole knew, dressed like a giant nug. The sight of all Adaar's advisers naked and tangled together on a floating recreation of the war table was even more unlikely, especially since Cole was almost certain that the little pieces that meant cities were not supposed to go where Josephine was putting them. 

Some of the spirits even seemed honestly confused by what they were doing, which resulted in a scowling Calpernia aimlessly spanking a bored looking Corypheus with what looked like the book Evangeline had called the Chant of Light. 

Trying to ignore the activities and listen for Solas' call, Cole drifted away from the disturbing orgy only to blunder into a spirit-Cassandra bouncing rather manically in the lap of a grinning spirit-Varric. “Hey, Kid,” Spirit-Varric greeted with a nonchalant wave, a sheaf of parchment propped against spirit-Cassandra's back. “I've nearly got the new chapter finished!”

Irritated, Cole tried to shove the spirits away. He really didn't want to see some of the things they were recreating, but they thronged thicker instead of dispersing. Deciding to simply ignore the press of heaving spirit-bodies, Cole slid deeper into the fade~toward the older, stable sections that tasted of ancient memory. Solas liked it best there.

“Where you going, creepy?” Spirit-Sera had her flushed face buried in Vivienne's ample bosom and looked honestly disappointed that he was leaving, which only served to reinforce how _wrong_ the dream was. “There's cookies in here somewhere....”

In fact a lot of the spirits were stopping what they were doing and staring at Cole in disappointment. It was a relief, but at the same time, Cole felt a bit guilty.....they'd obviously recreated something he was feeling, even if he had never, never, never wanted to see Sera with no clothes on.

Spirit-Sera's body dissolved back into its wispy form and the spirit trailed away disconsolately, sadly broadcasting its apology. As if on queue, most of the other spirits abandoned their efforts and started drifting aimlessly around, a determined few clinging to the forms they had dug out of Cole's subconscious. 

“Disappointing.” Spirit-Rhys said in a slightly muffled voice, his mouth full of the fingers spirit-Blackwall kept shoving in there. 

The chaos of the fade was starting to wear on Cole's patience in a way it hadn't when he was part of it rather than being buffeted by the manifestations of his emotions. Did humans have the same problems every time they slept? Maybe when he got back to Skyhold he could ask Solas if there was a way he could sleep without having to watch all his friends having sex with each other and random inanimate objects. 

Dropping faster through the layers of the fade, Cole soon left the cluster of spirits behind, some still determinedly rutting at each other. He hoped that as soon as he was gone, the other spirits would revert back to whatever they were supposed to be doing, and that he hadn't corrupted them with the confusing thoughts that were making his sleeping body ache. 

Solas' song was soft and gentle here, more a lonely longing than the raw need Cole had heard the first time. He thrilled to hear it and felt his distant body start to breath faster, echoing his anticipation. 

The section of fade that Cole found Solas in was a stable memory of cool blues and shadowed impressions of trees overhead. It was oddly quiet and peaceful, the few other spirits in attendance amiably exploring both the glade and Solas in long, languid movements.

Cole hesitated, unsure. It had been easier when Solas had called him with pure need, when he could feel the waves of want that wound through them both. He trembled anxiously, the insubstantial threads of his being wavering between dreaming and fleeing to the lure of his drowsing flesh.

“Hello.” Solas' voice was as rich and gentle here as it was in the waking world. Warm, welcoming, it willed Cole forward. “I am glad you returned.”

And Solas _was_ glad, Cole realized. Below his calm there was a shiver of anticipation that bloomed into rich desire as Cole reached out to stroke insubstantial hands over the strong bones of his face in a way that he wished he dared do while awake. How different it would be to feel with flesh rather than the hazy contact he was limited to?

“Ah,” Solas hummed in appreciation, tipping his head back as Cole moved along the elegant column of his throat. He arched up into every caress, long fingers digging into the fade wrought ground as another eager spirit joined Cole in his explorations.

Even though he couldn't touch the spirits in return, Solas shared his pleasure openly, letting his enjoyment hang and pulse through the air like song. Cole basked in it, almost-fingers drawing low groans of pleasure that made his sleeping body writhe in sympathy, the friction of the blankets both a comfort and a torment. 

The air seemed to grow tighter, humming on the edge of the bright burst that Solas chased as he bucked lean hips up against Cole's hands. He gasped out encouragements in an old, dead tongue that meant more and please, dissolving into not-words as Cole followed the other spirit's example and pressed up into the tightness that made the song burn louder. 

The brightness grew, blinding and burning, arching down the tether that tied Cole to the flesh he had made. And then, in an instant, it stopped.

Reeling, Cole could feel a sleepy moan of protest from his body as he floundered in the sudden loss of sensation. The bright pleasure chilled to irritation and Solas sat up, the open relaxation on his face souring into a displeasure he usually reserved for tea and Sera.

“Honestly?” Solas snapped, his voice angry as the wolf snarling behind his words, and was gone.

The other spirit flitted back into the shifting fade, leaving Cole to flicker uncertainly around where Solas had just been. He didn't think Solas' irritation had been directed at him, but the sudden separation left an ache that tugged and tightened the tether that was his waking body. With a last surge of regret at Solas' abrupt disappearance, Cole let his consciousness pull him up and into the world.

Cole didn't feel relaxed. There was absolutely none of the sleepy lassitude he'd felt the last time he'd dreamed with Solas, now his body felt tight, pulled to breaking like the string on Varric's bow. His skin felt everything, too much, every thread and wrinkle of his bedroll every brush of cold air that made him shiver. Confused, he shifted, and the burst of pleasure that bordered on discomfort left him stunned.

Twisting his head, Cole bit down sharply on the edge of his blanket to stifle the whimpers that wanted to rise in his throat. He knew his body had felt this the last time he'd dreamed, but it had been distorted by distance, nothing like the urgent need that he had only ever felt in other people. Tentatively he touched his swollen flesh, slick where it rubbed against his belly and gasped at the sensation, snatching his hands back to dig sharply into the furs.

Cole was getting used to the loud demands of his body. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, pain...they all yowled in his mind when he ignored them, but none of them were as loud as this. This was like hammer blows that drowned out everything but him, he couldn't even hear Blackwall by the fire or Dorian and Adaar sleeping in their tents. No wonder the mages in the Spire risked the Templar's wrath to press their flesh together in secret, and no wonder The Iron Bull thought about doing this all the time with Dorian and just about everyone else. 

When other people did this, they sometimes imagined other people. Dorian liked to think about The Iron Bull when he wasn't there, and Cassandra thought about the people in Varric's books....closing his eyes, Cole tried to imagine it was Solas' hand, cool and confident, rather than his own nervous fingers. The thought made him gasp, biting down harder on the blanket to muffle the noise. It would be very bad if Blackwall heard and came to make sure he was alright. 

Solas would be slow, controlled. Gentle and strong in the same moment, unhurried even if Cole complained. Maybe he would even hold him still while he counseled patience? Cole dug the fingers of his free hand into his hip hard enough to sting, shuddering at the thought of Solas leaning his weight into the restraint, that secretive smile curling his lips. He couldn't help but think of Solas' breath against his throat, steady with the promise of teeth as sharp as the wolf that lived under his skin, and his body shuddered as his release tore through him. 

Panting, Cole shivered as the aftershocks sparked through his body. It felt a bit like when he'd stepped on a trap spell that Dorian had been practicing with, except this time he wasn't on fire, even if his skin felt hot. In fact, now that the loud need was gone, he was very aware that he was sticky, sweaty, and his jaw ached from biting down on the now somewhat-damp blankets. It should have been uncomfortable, but instead he felt relaxed, smiling to himself as he stretched out loose limbs and thought of Solas.

Hopefully Adaar would take them back to Skyhold soon.

___________________________________________________________________________

Solas lifted the edge of his blankets with trepidation and sighed as two lizards scuttled out, leaving a little trail of sand as they went. Over the last week, Sera had upped her pranks to a level that was becoming deeply irritating. It had started with a torrential downpour of icy water from a bucket that had apparently been balanced on the library railing. The fact that it had woken him abruptly from the most erotic fade-dream he had ever been a part of contributed to his revenge, namely requesting the presence of a spirit of mischief that had delighted in turning Sera's room into a shambles. 

Every day since had resulted in unwelcome creatures in his bedding, salt in his tea, prickling thorns in his clothing and crude charcoal additions to his murals. 

Solas could only hope that the return of the Inquisitor and Blackwall, who was shockingly prone to indulging Sera's immaturity, might distract the prankster from her mission of mayhem. Certainly it had been quieter if one discounted Iron Bull and Dorian's rather enthusiastic greeting that had gone on for hours until Leliana had descended to tell them to take it elsewhere. Crossing to his desk, Solas shuffled his papers together, discarding the sheet that had been thoughtfully redecorated with a large phallus, until he was distracted by the large, wrapped object on the corner of his desk.

Picking the curious object up, Solas turned it over in his long fingers. It was lumpy, wrapped in what looked like burlap and inexpertly tied with knotted string that resisted his attempts to untie until he burnt it to char with a little wisp of flame. He hummed in appreciation as he unwrapped the lump of pure dawnstone, it was an exceptionally clear piece, without the cracks or flaws that would make it unsuitable to channel any powerful magics. 

While Solas was perfectly capable of casting without even a staff to act as a focus, he did like the ease of using dawnstone, especially with the barrier spells. Losing his preferred staff in that odd, time-locked desert temple had been irritating, especially when Dorian immediately laid claim to the magical artifact at the heart of it. 

Genuinely touched, Solas set the dawnstone aside. The Inquisitor was a very thoughtful man, he'd have to thank Adaar next time he came to visit.


	3. Dream3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this was so late in arriving. A catastrophic laptop crash managed to delete the first draft of this chapter, two other stories I was working on and a nearly finished chapter of 'ties. It also deleted all my business stuff all the way back to the first of April.......so I've been having a fun few weeks redoing everything.   
> That said, hopefully stuff will be on track now that I'm almost caught back up. *disgusted noise*

“ _And as the Knight-Captain fumed in impotent fury, the mage pulled the elven maiden up into the saddle in front of him, smiling devilishly down at his captive._

_“Please, let me go!” The maid struggled, a blush rising on her pale cheeks as her struggles tore her skirts to expose one elegant leg and creamy thigh. “Oh, please ser.”_

_“And lose such a prize?” The mage's hand gripped the maid around the waist, possessive and strong as she trembled, bosom heaving with fear. “You've been dabbling in blood magic my beauty, your reputation precedes you. You and I shall do grand magics together.”_

_“Leave her be, sorcerer!” The Knight-Captain cried, struggling against the binding ice and its cruel chill. “She isn't yours!”_

_“Oh, but she is.” Wheeling his coal black steed, the mage laughed, bending to kiss his captive's neck as she stiffly looked away. “She just doesn't know it yet!”_

_As terrified as she was, the elf maid couldn't help but shiver as the mage pulled her firmly back against him, one hand gripping the plunging horse's reins and the other spanning her slender waist. His chest was hard beneath his robes, and as the ride continued she could feel another harness growing against her lower back. An answering ache arose in the maid and..._ Cole, are you even listening?”

“Yes?” Cole said tentatively. He'd been chewing absently on his thumbnail and now there was blood seeping through the skin. Blackwall told him that it was a bad habit, but he hadn't been able to answer when Cole had asked him what a good habit was and if the sweet smelling pipe he smoked behind the stables when nobody was watching was one. 

“If you aren't, then it would be best if I stopped there.” Cassandra flipped a few pages forward and blushed. “Perhaps we should stop here anyway.”

“No. I want to know what happens next!” Cole tucked his knees up against his chest and looked hopefully at Cassandra before remembering that the Seeker considered manners to be very important. “Please?”

“I suppose a few more pages wouldn't hurt.” Mollified by Cole's renewed interest, Cassandra propped the book open on her knees. 

It was hard for Cole to concentrate on the sound of Cassandra's voice and the ebb and flow of the story. Usually he could get lost in the words that came alive when the Seeker read them, Varric's characters becoming real in a way they never were when he tried to read the stories himself. But Cole found that the pictures in his head were becoming far louder than the words even though they didn't quite match what Cassandra was saying; Solas wasn't an evil mage and Cole was certainly not a blushing elf maid.

As Cassandra stuttered through a sordid scene in which the wicked mage seduced his captive, first with words and then with gentle magic and his tongue, Cole absently tugged threads from the sleeve of his shirt and wondered if Solas had ever kidnapped anyone. 

Solas was mostly calm and quiet, but sometimes Cole could hear the wolf behind his words; then Solas' voice would ring with command and every word he said would sound like _'obey'_ even when it wasn't. It was a tone that expected, _demanded_ submission and the thought of having that directed at him made Cole shiver, tightening his fingers against his legs until it almost hurt. 

“Cassandra?” Cole eventually interrupted, wincing a little as she turned a stern glare on him. “Do you think anyone would kidnap me like that?”

Cassandra opened and closed her mouth silently a few times and Cole was beginning to worry that there might be something wrong. “These are simply tales, Cole,” the Seeker said very slowly. “Nobody is kidnapping anyone.”

“Oh.” Cole tilted his head down so that the brim of his hat covered his disappointment. He could feel Cassandra's concern hanging in the air between them until it soured into a resigned distaste that made his skin itch. “Alright.”

“That is...” Huffing a breath out, Cassandra stared hard at the roof of the tent. It seemed easier for her to speak to the tent instead of him, so Cole decided not to remind her of Josephine's lectures about looking politely at people while you were talking to them. “While I am sure I do not care, Dorian told me that you have formed some manner of....attachment...to Solas.”

“Yes.” Cole said miserably, “we have sex in the fade but he doesn't know it's me.”

The horrified, frozen silence that followed that revelation was enough to make Cole squirm. It was hard to remember all the things he wasn't supposed to say now that he couldn't make people forget, and sometimes it led to moments like this. If there was any possible chance that Solas would be interested in kidnapping him, Cole thought that this would be the perfect moment for him to do so.

“How can he not know...No!” Cassandra raised her hands to forestall any explanation as to why Solas didn't recognize the wispy spirit Cole became in the fade. “I don't want to know anything.”

Cole watched sadly as Cassandra stuffed the novel out of sight under her bedroll, he really had wanted to know what was going to happen next. Whenever he said something that disturbed his friends, Cole had learned that making a quiet exit was the closest he could get to helping them forget his, as Dorian put it, 'slip of the tongue.' Unfolding his long limbs he'd almost made it to the tent flap when Cassandra stopped him.

“Cole...just..be careful.” There was an unexpected softness in Cassandra's voice that made Cole blink at her in surprise. The Seeker had only ever sounded like that in her head when she thought about Varric and forgot to be angry at him. “There is a lot we don't know about Solas and you have a great deal to learn about....everything.”

“Thank you,” Cole said quietly, so flattered by Cassandra's unexpected concern that he ignored the comment about having to learn everything. “Thank you for caring.....and I won't tell Varric that you're sorry you stabbed his book and that you would like to apologize without your armor on.”

“I never thought that!” Cassandra's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet and Cole fled before her embarrassment turned to the more dangerous outrage. She didn't stab books anymore, but she sometimes threw them.

___________________________________________________________________________

There were more people around the well-lit desert camp than Cole was used to. Adaar had said that they could all sleep the night through instead of taking turns because Scout Harding and her people would warn them of danger. 

Two scouts were toasting slices of apple at a fire while several patrolled the cluster of tents, eyes watchful as they peered out into the dark sands. They didn't say anything as he slipped past, but Cole could hear their thoughts pattering against his skin like hail on a stone roof. _Strange lad, it's a wonder the Herald lets him wander around. Someone needs to feed that boy. Maker, how can it be so hot during the day and then get this cold, can't feel my toes._

Cole took note of the tall scout with the cold feet. Krem had made him a thick pair of woolen socks, but the sand liked them more than his feet did and now they lived at the very bottom of his pack. He'd put them somewhere the scout would find them in the morning. 

There was something old and almost frightening about the open desert, silent except for the whispers of the wind-blown sand that almost sounded like voices. Kicking off his shoes, Cole dug his toes into the dune as he walked, the grains of sand still warm with memories of the sun as they brushed over his skin. 

Adaar didn't let him walk without shoes when they traveled because he was convinced that something was going to bite his toes off, but so far the only animals Cole had seen was a scampering fenec that didn't seem interested in his toes, and the distant bulk of a vhargest who would probably eat his whole leg whether or not he had shoes on. 

Scuffing to the top of the dune, Cole flopped down gracelessly in the sand and tilted his head back to look at the brilliant scattering of the stars. He wished that Solas was there to talk to, he would understand why Cole thought the lights, flickering memories of long-dead stars, were sad. But unfortunately he'd stayed in Skyhold and the only contact they'd had were in the fade.

As much as he loved pleasing Solas, watching him writhe, wanting and wanton, Cole couldn't help but find their encounters strangely unsatisfying. Sometimes Solas was quiet and controlled, other times wild and demanding, but Cole could only imagine how much better everything would be if they were both flesh and he didn't have to wake up aching and alone. He was starting to understand more of what his body wanted, although it was mostly learned from the bright thoughts of Dorian and The Iron Bull as they crested and shattered together, than his own explorations. 

There were times when Solas would simply wander through the fade. Content to point out the shimmering recreations of towering elven cities, brought back to life by a host of dedicated spirits. Or he would sit on a hillside and explain the intricate movements of the armies of spirits as they played out some great, ancient battle. 

Solas was softer, more open in these moments of quiet than he was in Skyhold. 

Despite knowing that the little grains were going to burrow through his clothes and scratch at his skin later, Cole stretched out in the sand. He'd learned more about sleeping, and had discovered that he didn't have to be in a bed. He could sleep almost anywhere even if Vivienne deemed some places 'inappropriate' for reasons that she never wanted to explain.

___________________________________________________________________________

Vigilance broadcast it's confusion in broad arcs, utterly losing control of the tenuous grip it had on the vague Solas-shape it had formed and spreading out into a hazy blob. It as about the third time this had happened and if it wasn't for Perseverance, who was determined that this scenario was possible, Cole would have given up.

The fade had been strangely quiet when Cole had slipped into it with none of the confusion he'd had in his first few visits. There was no trace of Solas, and the empty, shifting dunes didn't attract as many spirits as the lively cities did. It was the unexpected solitude, with no hoards of wisps and unformed spirits clamoring to bring every unwelcome thought to life, that gave Cole an idea: he would call in some other spirits and see if they would be willing to help him with the images and wants that were burning in his mind.

Perseverance had been the first to respond, and the most eager even if it didn't understand the images that Cole showed it. It was born from the determination of those who had fought their way across the blazing dunes, and although it was enthusiastic it really had no idea why Cole wanted it to look like a particular elf and do things that were confusing. Vigilance hadn't had much more luck, despite Perseverance's constant encouragement.

Cole sent a wave of apology towards Vigilance. He really had just hoped his fellow spirits could help him with the images Cassandra's story had left to itch in his head, but it wasn't working. 

In it's enthusiasm, Perseverance had managed to find a morose spirit of regret and was cheerfully trying to get it to help. Cole watched aghast as Regret managed to form itself into a waver, very naked, miserable looking Solas for a few seconds before slowly deflating into a moldy looking lump. 

This really had been a horrible idea. 

Adaar often lectured Cole on the futility of 'hindsight', which made sense since Solas had said female halla were called hinds and it probably wouldn't help to see things like a halla. He'd felt stupid when Varric had explained that hindsight meant thinking about doing things after you'd done them, instead of before. 

This was a perfect example of why hindsight was unhelpful. It had taken a long time for Cole to understand what making a physical body meant, and he was still struggling with basic things like being thirsty or tired. It was unreasonable to expect other spirits to understand bodies, or why looking like Solas while doing things from Cassandra's book could make Cole's sleeping body feel very nice. 

In _hindsight,_ and Cole felt a small thrill of pride over using that concept properly, he should have woken up and spent some time exploring the confusing array of ways he could make himself feel good instead of involving poor, baffled Vigilance and Perseverance. 

Roused again by Perseverance's tireless, well....perseverance, Regret made a final irritated attempt at forming a passable Solas. As Vigilance watched intently, Regret manifested exactly one elegantly pointed ear before morosely drifting off amid Perseverance's plaintive protests. 

If it hadn't been for the interruption of an instantly recognizable drifting song, Cole would have grabbed onto the irritation that was making his body stir in frustration and used it to drag himself awake. It wasn't a melody like the songs Maryden played in the tavern, the ones with words and strings and old polished wood. This was an old, sad call that tugged at Cole as if it was shouting his name. Solas.

Cole could sense Vigilance's relief as he flitted away, letting Solas' call become a rope he could cling to as it wove through the fade. Perseverance fluttered away, hopefully to find some tired, wayward travelers to encourage to keep walking in the direction of water and sheltering caves.

It was easier to be formless, to flutter after the faint call. Falling in a way Cole had been so afraid of the first time he'd slept, when he'd barely dared to venture deep into the fade. Now it was almost second nature to slip through the layers as the small, kind thing he'd been before.

Solas wasn't in the sections of the fade Cole usually found him in, and there was no need in his song, no invitation. His distant body settled, worry overriding the disappointment that there was no playful, erotic overtones to Solas' wavering call. He let the pain pull at him, tugging deeper until the fade spread out into memories of a broad, golden plain. Trees and spires circled up, ringed by spirits in the form of elves~bare faces turned up to a shimmering, imagined sun.

Drifting, small and insubstantial, Cole wove through the other spirits. Insignificant as he slipped through the celebration until he found Solas on a hillside of grass that rippled endlessly in a non existent wind. 

Sorrow and old, festered grief wound around Solas like thread. Layers and layers of regret and loneliness that bowed him, barely shifting when Cole pushed comfort against them and reached for Solas with half formed limbs. He wound around the elf's lean shoulders, brushing against his skin until he earned a grateful smile. 

“My friend.” Solas' voice was soft, winding through Cole like a whisper. “I didn't wish to call you here, this is no place for a lone spirit.”

Cole agreed as much as he could. The elves the spirits had formed all battered against his being, begging him to join in their endless celebration, but Solas pulled at him more. He instinctively tugged at one of the newer threads, unwinding it with care until its pain dissolved and fell away like ashes and Solas could breathe easier. The slight swell of relief was familiar but the sharp spike of shock was new, he'd forgotten that he couldn't heal and then slip away to be forgotten.

“How did you...?” Solas pulled away, turning from the endless whirl of activity to stare with eyes gone sharp and angry. “....Compassion?”

It had been his name before. Before he changed and learned and grew; before the real Cole died and Varric made him look down Bianca's sights and tighten his fingers on the trigger. It didn't fit anymore. Cole supposed it meant more here than it did when he was awake, but it was still only a part, a piece of old, pure purpose. He tried to explain, but without words it was harder, thoughts and emotions twisting together.

Cole's agreement was muddled, confused. Solas was...angry, _with him?_ , his sorrow pulling together into an armor of brittle distaste and shame. 

“Cole.” There was no question in Solas' tone, only a sour, solemn condemnation before he gathered the fade around him and shoved. 

It wasn't like being hit, nothing like the times Cole had sparred with The Iron Bull and inevitably wound up on his back watching the sky waver and heave. It was like the barriers Solas wove in battle, except instead of gentle protection this shoved him back, flinging him into his waking body so fast he forgot how to breathe.

Floundering up from the sand, Cole shivered in the night air. Solas' abrupt rejection had _hurt_. Anytime they'd met up in the fade, Solas had been warm and welcoming, the same way he was when Cole went to visit him in his round room. He'd never been angry, even when Cole could sense the lingering disappointment when he'd become more human. Even then Solas had been kind, he'd never looked at Cole like something distasteful and wrong. 

His eyes itched and Cole scrubbed at them with his forearm, surprised by the streak of moisture on his chilled skin. The camp was a distant point of light, a far away promise of comfortable camaraderie. Hunching his shoulders against the cold night wind, Cole started down the dune.

___________________________________________________________________________

“You alright kid, you've been quiet?”

They were still several days from Skyhold and Cole felt like he'd been trampled by a druffalo. Not that he'd ever been trampled by a druffalo, but Adaar had when some of Sera's bees had stung one. It looked like it had hurt.

“I'm fine, Varric.” Cole said softly even though he wasn't, but Varric didn't need to hear about the druffalo. “Thank you for asking.”

Varric made a noise that meant he didn't believe what he'd been told and peered up at Cole's shadowed face, only to be defeated by the hanging brim of his hat.

“Bullshit, kid. You've been moping around like Sparkler when he's got wet socks.” Varric rubbed a hand through his hair and Cole could hear both his growing concern and his hope that it wasn't something embarrassing. Varric liked to help with words, but he didn't like it when problems became too knotted and confusing. 

Every instinct told Cole to keep walking and ignore Varric's questions. He was supposed to be helping others and it still felt very strange to need that assistance for himself. If it wasn't for the fact that he was achingly tired and his stomach felt like he'd drunk water from a sick stream, Cole would have diverted Varric with questions about the people that lived in his head. 

It had been nine nights since Solas had pushed him out of the fade and Cole still wasn't sure what it all meant. All he knew was that he'd spent every night drifting aimlessly around the fade in the hopes that Solas would come back and explain everything, but he never came and Cole became the focus of every wistful, sad spirit in the area. They had thronged so enthusiastically to his misery that he'd taken to keeping himself awake whenever possible.

“I did something wrong I think....” Cole blinked slowly, his eyes felt like they were full of itching sand and tended to drift shut if he didn't actively tell them not to. “Dorian told me to give Solas things that he would like, and I did but he's still angry at me. I don't understand.”

The last few words came out as a half wail and Cassandra turned to look back at them with stern disapproval. Cole had tried to talk to her first because she knew a lot because of all the books she read, but the Seeker had sternly told him she wanted no part of it. Then she had felt so guilty she'd bullied Cole into wearing a heavy coat during the two day rainstorm they'd walked through, even adding a scarf she dug out of her pack that smelled like the blueberry scones and dust. 

“Shit, kid.” Varric waved a scowling Cassandra away. “You're the one that's been putting stuff on Chuckles' desk? He's been trying to figure that out for weeks, pretty much accused Tiny of putting Knobby up to it!”

Knobby was what Varric called Adaar because of his small horn-stumps. Cole had been worried that it would hurt, but Adaar seemed genuinely touched to have been given a nickname, even if it didn't really fit after Harritt had made him horns out of the shining silver metal they'd found in the snow.

With a heavy sigh, Cole tried to explain everything to Varric, which was difficult because sometimes words didn't do what he meant them too. Eventually he muddled through and stopped when Varric started rubbing at his head like it hurt.

“Andraste's ass, Cole.” Varric only called him Cole when he was being serious, and he usually only talked about Andraste's ass at the same time. Cole wasn't sure what was so remarkable about a statue's ass, but Cullen had given him a long lecture about respect when he'd caught Cole examining the one that people lit candles in front of. “Nobody has really talked to you about the birds and the bees have they?”

“Why would anyone talk to me about birds and bees?” Cole asked curiously, then brightened with realization as Varric's face darkened to the rich shade of a tomato. “Oh, you mean sex. Yes, Dorian made me a drawing, but I had already seen a lot of mages having sex in the spire.”

Helpfully, Cole extracted a much folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to Varric who accepted it as dubiously as he would one of Sera's jars of bees. Cole watched as the dwarf unfolded the sheet and stared at it for a long moment with his jaw slowly sagging open in a way that Vivienne would say was 'gormless.' Cole wasn't sure what gorm was, or why it seemed to disappear at moments like this, but maybe Vivienne would tell him when they got back to Skyhold. 

“I'll have a talk with Sparkler when we get back” Varric said grimly, except in his mind he didn't mean talk he meant shoot at. “What was he thinking...”

“Dorian was trying to help.” Cole hung his head and felt even more miserable. Dorian was so clever and he tried to be kind, he didn't deserve to be shot with arrows. 

“Alright, kid.” Varric grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as if he could erase Dorian's drawing from his eyeballs. “You and I are going to have a little talk about something called consent.....”


End file.
